


To Strip of Control

by cadkitten



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Superman (Comics), Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Affection, Aftercare, Barebacking, Biting, Light Dom/sub, Loss of Control, M/M, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Stripping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-09
Updated: 2017-04-09
Packaged: 2018-10-16 17:25:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10576011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cadkitten/pseuds/cadkitten
Summary: He remembered what it did to Bruce for him to be so submissive, to abandon himself to Bruce's ever whim, and he remembered thepowerwith which Bruce took him when he finally had, and he wanted it all again. Wanted that wild abandon from the most controlled man in all of Gotham.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Commission from SabakuCon for Kiana. Prompt was left up to me.  
> Beta Readers: kate1zena  
> Song[s]: "Million Dollar Man" by Lana Del Rey

They'd spent months not talking about this; implications passed back and forth between them, half-spoken sentences that Bruce never quite completed, hedging questions that danced around the subject from Clark. 

If Clark really thought about it, he wasn't sure how he'd finally got the nerve to go through with it. Maybe it had been the furtive glances whenever he took his time unbuttoning his shirt or maybe it was the tightness in Bruce's pants when Clark changed quickly. One thing he did know was that he wouldn't have done this for anyone else, would never have dreamed of potentially embarrassing himself with something he had no real idea how to do for someone who _wasn't_ Bruce.

He'd set up the evening weeks ago, hadn't told Bruce what he had in mind and hadn't done anything more than scour the internet for a song to use, making sure to keep his searches refined to his fortress just so that he wouldn't tip Bruce off before he got the guts to go through with it. The song he found wasn't _quite_ what he'd had in mind, but most of it fit how he saw them, how he thought about Bruce when he wasn't around, and there was just something about the hint of a _million dollar man_ within the lyrics that spoke to him. 

He'd probably put too much thought into a simple song, but it seemed like the kind of thing that Bruce would pay mind to, even with Clark fumbling his way through stripping down in front of him and so he'd been _careful_. Nothing too fast or too distracting. Nothing that drew attention too far away from him but, in the same breath, nothing that would make Bruce pay more attention than he would already be. 

Dinner had been a standard affair, mostly because Clark didn't want Bruce to suspect a thing. He'd waited, been patient, waited on Bruce's hint that maybe since Clark was sticking around they could retire to another room, somewhere more _comfortable_ and he'd taken the opportunity.

After all this time and they still always found a way not to actually say what they meant, to never actually _ask_ the other for what they wanted. Maybe it was the era they'd grown up, the implication of the generation before them and pieces of their own that they shouldn't allude to certain desires, that on some level what they were doing was still not socially acceptable. Whatever it was, it left him at a loss as to how to actually let on what he wanted from Bruce, knew that if he tried to use his speed to get him where he wanted him, Bruce would react before he could stop himself, that the mood would be ruined before it ever started.

As a result, he ended up standing awkwardly with his phone in hand, the song he wanted to use on the screen and his nerves starting to fray at the edges. 

Swallowing down his fears, he gestured toward Bruce's overstuffed armchair, managed a mumbled, "Uh... sit?"

There was a hint of amusement in Bruce's gaze before he turned, made his way to the chair and settled on it, feet planted wide apart on the floor, his hands on the arms, fingertips curling over the edge, and Clark found he couldn't have stopped staring even if he'd wanted.

He moved to the dresser, quickly toed his shoes and socks off and pressed play as he set his phone on the dresser. He took a few carefully timed steps toward Bruce, the music playing out his beat. His hips swayed and his hand came up, trailed over his expensive tie - the one Bruce had given him almost a year ago - slowly loosened it and slid it free from his neck. 

_You said I was the most exotic flower~_ Clark slid his hand out to the side with the lyrics, let the tie slip from his fingers to the carpet below. 

He watched the nearly imperceptible changes in Bruce's features: the tensing of the muscles in his thighs and core, the smallest change in his breathing that told him that Bruce had caught on, the dilation of his pupils, and the faintest pick-up in his pulse. 

He'd always found the way Bruce reacted to him to be something truly beautiful: a work of art all on his own.

He kept the gentle sway of his hips, took the advice he'd overheard once to keep it low key if you were new to it. Closing his eyes, he just listened to Bruce's reactions, his fingertips dragging down over his crisp white shirt, ghosting over pearl buttons and then sliding back up to open the collar of the shirt, slipping lower, one button at a time, careful to keep the fabric together until he was ready to show Bruce just how much he understood about what he wanted.

 _You're screwed up and brilliant and look like a million dollar man~_ Clark opened his eyes, watched the way Bruce's nostrils flared and he _knew_ Bruce understood just how much time he'd spent trying to find the perfect song for this. Their eyes met for a moment and Clark took the opportunity to dip his head, to give Bruce his most smoldering look, the curl of hair on his forehead teasing along his vision as he slowly parted the fabric of his shirt, exposed his costume beneath.

He _heard_ the thud of Bruce's heart, the intake of breath that any normal human could have picked up on, and his lips curved into a sultry little smile. The cotton-blend fabric skimmed down his arms, his already loosened cuffs from after dinner not impeding him in the least. He let the shirt fall to the floor behind him, and watched Bruce's hands tighten against the arms of the chair.

Moving his hands over his chest, nails skimming across his nipples, he felt them harden under his touch, knew Bruce was staring at them even as his hands moved to his belt, flicked it open with a quick movement and then he was thumbing open the button of his slacks, fingertips gripping the delicate zipper and waiting on the right moment of the song. _I'd follow you down, down, down~_ Clark gave three gentle tugs to his zipper, easing his fly open and Bruce's gaze jerked downward, as if Clark held precise power over where he was allowed to look and when.

Hooking his thumbs into the waistband, he began to tug them down over his hips, bent with the movement until he had them on the floor. Only then did he step out of them and straighten back up. Three careful steps, the sway of the music in his bones now, and he knelt between Bruce's legs, oh-so-carefully brought his hands up the opposite arms, teasing himself until he could feel the flush in his own cheeks, the excitement building just as rapidly as it always did where Bruce was concerned.

His fingers teased at his throat and then carded back through his hair, came back to ease the top part of his hidden zipper down, and then he was standing again, turning his back to Bruce, letting him watch as he grasped the zipper and began to slide it down, the sound of it easily masked by the song. 

The subtle shift of Bruce's body against the chair told him he was having a time of it, barely restraining himself from reaching down to ease the ache he knew was growing between his thighs. 

His zipper stopped just above the swell of his ass and someone in another room could have heard the way Bruce's breath rushed out, the way his control nearly broke. Another shift in the seat and he didn't have to look to know Bruce was rocking his hips forward, trying to ease the tension without touching.

Resting his hands on the opposite shoulders, he pinched the fabric between his fingers and gently guided it down, over his biceps, along his forearms, and then off over each hand, in turn. His hands slid into his suit, pushed it down with the simple motion of sliding his hands down over his hips and then his thighs, all the way down, _knowing_ the show he was giving Bruce.

The creak of the wooden arms beneath Bruce's grip was _obscene_ , set Clark's own breath to hitching, to thinking about just how Bruce was going to find his satisfaction tonight. 

He stepped out of his suit and turned, the final notes of the song floating through the air as he sank to his knees in front of Bruce, clasped his hands behind his back, and bowed his head. He felt Bruce's hand in the air before the most hesitant of touches finally brought him in contact with Clark's hair. Clark leaned into it, tipping his head back, meeting Bruce's desire-filled gaze. 

His own body was on fire, his thighs tingling and his cock so hard he knew the entire last half of his show had been perhaps more than he'd bargained for.

"Anything you want... _take it_." His voice shook with the words and he was certain his heart was going to explode from his chest at any given second. 

Bruce's hand gripped tight in his hair, a rough groan bubbling up from inside. He moved to the edge of his seat and Clark knew what was coming before Bruce ever moved to do it. The hand that dipped one-handedly unfastened Bruce's pants was of no surprise. The instant he was exposed, Clark could _feel_ the shift in Bruce's demeanor, knew it would be one of the rare occasions where Bruce actually _did_ take what he wanted from him.

His hips rocked forward, his hand dragging Clark's head down, and Clark tightened his grip on his hands to ensure he didn't reach for Bruce's thighs the way he wanted to. He remembered what it did to Bruce for him to be so submissive, to abandon himself to Bruce's every whim, and he remembered the _power_ with which Bruce took him when he finally did, and he wanted it all again. Wanted that wild abandon from the most controlled man in all of Gotham. 

Closing his eyes, he opened his mouth and _let_ Bruce guide him down on his length, allowed the slide of his cock against his tongue, a seemingly never ending push of his mouth down around him until his nose brushed the curls at the base, until his air was limited by the sheer bulk of it nudging against his throat. He'd never minded this, had no real gag reflex to speak of, and he found it no more uncomfortable than only taking some of him in.

Bruce's hand held him in place, his grip like iron on Clark's hair, and then the slow rock of his hips began. Just barely pulling him out and then pushing back in, never actually leaving Clark's throat. 

The rush of Bruce's breath, the way his heartbeat thudded in his chest, told Clark just how much this was doing for Bruce. Sure, their usual sessions were great, the sex anything but dull, but the times when Bruce finally let go... those were the ones that Clark lived for. When he could steal every ounce of that control away from him, urge him to the point where he'd bring Clark to his knees, those were the truest moments for Clark.

Bruce's hips stilled and he was hauling him up off of his cock, fingertips skimming over Clark's cheek and then tucking under his chin, tipping his face up toward him. They shared the most gentle of kisses, Bruce's teeth lightly grazing at Clark's lower lip, and then he was barely speaking against his lips, offering Clark a way out before he went too far, just like he always did.

Clark responded the way he'd figured out turned Bruce on the most, the way that showed just how much _power_ Bruce held over Clark _when he allowed it_. "You know I could break you in an instant if you ever did something I didn't want." He heard the sharp intake of breath and then Bruce was on his feet and he was yanking Clark's head back, baring his throat to him as he knelt in front of him and leaned in to bite at it. The pressure was _forceful_ , intentionally using a pressure no one else's skin could have resisted, and Clark didn't stop himself from moaning because of it.

He shuddered as Bruce bit hard enough it could have went clean through with a mere human and then he felt the gentle, careful licks over the spot, the brush of Bruce's five o'clock shadow as he rested his lips against the area. His breathing was rapid already and Clark wondered just how much he'd pent up inside of himself this time, just how hard he was going to be taken when Bruce finally gave in.

Bruce's hands dragged down over his pecs, nails scratching past his nipples, and Clark gasped, his hips jerking. 

In an instant, Bruce's hands were on his hips, the pressure _hard_ , holding him with all of his strength as he went to his knees, thigh-to-thigh with Clark. His grip shifted, fingers moving to grasp his ass, fingertips digging into the supple flesh, and then their cocks were finally, blessedly, touching and Clark gasped out Bruce's name, pleasure burning through him as Bruce began to move. Sharp little jerks of his hips and Clark knew Bruce was _taking_ his pleasure. For him, this was the only way he would take what he wanted, the only way he would give in and _satisfy himself_. 

Bruce's head tipped back, his breath hitching and Clark canted his hips, just _felt_ the way Bruce was moving against him, felt the way his sac was growing tighter and tighter with every single movement. He knew what would set Bruce off, what would snap him into taking _everything_ he wanted, and he aimed for it, for Bruce's freedom.

His muscles trembled, Bruce's hips snapping quick against his own, and then he was cumming, thick pulses of his cum spurting up over Bruce's hip, dripping down into the fabric of his slacks, and he felt the rush of pleasure that came with being so _dirty_.

Hands gripped him harshly and before he could actually register what was happening, Bruce was standing over him, had his jaw tight in his grip, and Bruce's cock was being forced back into his mouth.

Clark moaned around it, let Bruce lose himself in fucking his mouth, watching the way his body strained, the way he looked like he was on the verge of his orgasm, and then he was _gone_ , just like that, Clark left staring at the open air before him.

He could hear Bruce behind him, heard the faintest sound of the drawer closing and Bruce's slacks hitting the floor, and then he was being shoved face-first against the chair, Bruce settling behind him. Two slick fingers pushed up into him without any preamble at all and Clark choked on the moan that fought to leave him, grabbed the cushion in front of him and held on as Bruce finger fucked him until he was satisfied.

His fingers left him abruptly, in what felt like mid-thrust, and he felt a sense of calm settle over him, an understanding that Bruce had _finally_ lost control. His hips were jerked back and this time he freed the moan that bubbled up just as easily as Bruce penetrated him. Everything lit up inside him and he instantly felt _full_ , pleasure sparking in his belly at the way Bruce's nails dug into the skin at his hips, the way Bruce hunched over him and just laid into him. 

Every snap of his hips, every desperate, _needy_ thrust into his body fed Clark's desire to please Bruce. Words began to slip free from Bruce's lips, a constant stream of half-spoken curses, cut off thoughts, things that made sense and things that didn't, and Clark understood that, too. Everything had short circuited for Bruce, the filters he kept constantly in place shattered at Clark's feet, his stream of consciousness exiting him the only way it knew how with only the most base of instincts still intact.

A few more seconds and then Bruce lost control of his power, used the _force_ Clark so desired, jarring him forward with every single thrust. The chair slammed into the wall with the first one and then the frame of the seat was digging into his abdomen. 

Clark's mind freed itself, everything hazing out as he let the pleasure grip him, allowed it to take him away to somewhere else entirely. Somewhat distantly, he heard Bruce _shout_ , felt the jarring thrusts increase until it all abruptly stopped, Bruce buried deep inside him, and he came back to himself with a jolt. His body clenched down around Bruce and he heard the strained cry as Bruce started to throb inside of him. 

When he finally started to feel Bruce relax behind him, he took his chance, moved his hand to take hold of Bruce's own, tugging it over his hip and down to grasp his cock, breathing out a quiet, " _Please_."

Within seconds bliss burst inside of him, his cock straining and then he was falling over the edge, his breath caught in his throat and his eyelids squeezed shut tight as he rocked into Bruce's touch. Together they brought him as high as he could go, helped him to spill everything he had all over the front of the chair, and then Bruce was slipping from his body, cradling Clark tenderly in his arms and Clark defied anyone to _care_ as much as Bruce did in those moments. 

He heard the quiet whisper of breath, the words that told him how grateful Bruce was, the way his heartbeat changed, he _felt_ the affection that overflowed, and there was nothing in the world that he wanted more than to be exactly where he was.


End file.
